smoke in mirrors

[Thomas "Ronan" Doxey]

*as if it's hell down here in the smoke-filled world,
where the jokes are cold
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In all of his travels over the years, Thomas – for reasons he knew not – felt he should stay clear of the capital city. He would argue with himself that he simply felt safer in the smaller, humble towns of Alagaësia because there was less likely the chance someone from his past would recognize him. Still, the argument was futile and eventually he would need to visit the rumored beautiful city. There wasn’t much avoiding Thomas’s fear of meeting a person he once knew. He did not take back his hopes that any friends or family that once knew him had thought him dead by now. What had it been? Two years? Three years? It was safe to assume that Thomas hadn’t been someone of high rank or power as no one was out looking for him, or, at the very least, no one had yet recognized his face. Oddly enough, despite his fear something else pulled at him. It was as though the strings from the Thomas before tugged at the strings from the Thomas after, making a part of the after Thomas also want to meet someone that he had once known.

Though, of recent days, Thomas had found himself traveling south along the Ramr River. He knew very well the consequences of this route would entail. But he had been nearly all over Alagaësia and it was high time Thomas visit the hub of the land he called his home. Uncertain of what he might find in Ilirea, he was sure to take his time as he turned from the river and went due south towards the capital. Surprisingly, it didn’t take but a few hours on horseback before the city became visible. The tall, glass and stone spires cut through the landscape and demanded to be seen. Thomas contemplated, but could not recall setting his eyes upon something so absolutely stunning. There was no doubt – as everyone had said – that the Elves were the race that constructed such monumental architecture.

As Ilirea came closer and closer, Thomas became increasingly anxious. The abundant grassy fields surrounding the city provided nothing but colorful flowers. He was certain he stuck out. The ebony horse, dark as the inside of a sealed tomb, walked with a soothing, sure rhythm; strands of his excessively thick, curly mane catching on light gales and tickling Thomas’s hands that had begun to perspire, holding strong to the reigns. It wasn’t just the horse, but he too was clad in all black; his cloak, his leather trousers; his boots. Everything. Save for his sapphire eyes and billowy shirt, Thomas was certain that from afar he looked like a murky smudge on the horizon. Even his skin was deeply tanned from spending hours in the sun.

Too worried about himself, Thomas took awhile to register the other smudge on the horizon. But this smudge was different, brighter, nearly blending into the vibrant background of the seemingly endless grasses. What made her visible, though, were her raven tresses shining blue against the flame-kissed rays of the midday sun. Most people he encountered became less attractive as you neared them but she. She only became more so. Her beauty and wealth were obvious, even from quite a many yards out. Thomas wouldn’t deny it; he was staring. What did it matter though? He could look at the city all he wanted later; it was unlikely he could look at this girl for much longer without her noticing.

But then the thought occurred to Thomas; what in the name of the king was this lass doing out of the city? She appeared to be relatively stagnant amongst the ever-flowing grasses. The horse couldn’t be able to take many more strides before the girl undeniably noticed Thomas’s approaching.

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they don't laugh at jokes
*they laugh at tragedies,

*TAG, lady gwethana
*WORDS, 627
*NOTES, alas
*OUTFIT, hurr
*LYRICS, regina spektor - lady
*CREDIT, THIS AMAZING THREAD TEMPLATE IS MADE BY CC! OF CAUTION 2.0.
KEEP THIS CREDIT ON HERE OR I WILL CURBSTOMP YOU (IN THE MOST LOVING WAY POSSIBLE!)

[Gwethana Idris Quartermane]

She knew not what it was that had called her to the outskirts of the city; but something promising wafted in the air. Standing amongst a sea of grass that scratched at the sensitive skin of her ankles, Gwethana heaved a sigh grateful for a moment away from her troubles. Gwethana shielded her eyes from the blinding rays of midday sun; her vision blurred. An ebony dot marked the horizon, she thought it merely a figment of her imagination turned soft by the heat. When the gold-dipped petals of a wildflower captivated her attention, she thought little of it and turned inhaling its sweet scent. An unconscious thought struck at the chords of her mind, but Gwethana paid little heed aggravated that the flower’s identity had escaped her mind. But something else pulled at her attention and forced the princess to straighten herself and face the impending “mirage”.

The figure was blurred but soon merged into the shape of a man, whose sun-kissed flesh was draped in dark fabric. Her lips tightened; it was an odd thing to wear this time of wear. Black attracted the sun’s warmth, and he was the color of coal! The stranger was bound to be sweating buckets. She cringed briefly at the thought but hastily wiped off the scowl from her lips. Gwethana squared her shoulders and hardened her gaze, as though demanding the man to become visible at once.

And he did.

A light gasp rolled from her tongue. All she could do was stand and stare, gaping, unable to peel her emerald orbs off of his frame. She knew those eyes. She knew that face. It had been quite some time she had last been in his presence, so very long ago that it felt as though she were floating in some weird dream that she wasn’t quite sure she wished to wake from. The heat, it had to be melting away her logic, yet as he approached she knew his life to be true. The horse he guided along was more beautiful than any in the royal stable and only he would be in possession of such a creature. Gwethana took a shaky step forward, hands curled in uncertainty at her waist. She feared his reception of her. But why should he? He had failed to return. Anger lit up her core and spread through her body like a wildfire. His father believed him to be dead, she had believed him to be lost to the earth. And now here he was, stumbling towards the capitol with a look of bemused wonder plastered across his face? No, she would not accept this. He was unacceptable.

Hitching up the folds of her gown, Gwethana made a mad dash forward resembling an angry bull ready for the attack. Though it was not a far run her breath had caught within her throat, making it nearly impossible to breath. She gasped loudly, struggling for air until she quite literally jumped before him. Black curls billowed upward like snakes and her mouth stretched wide, bearing teeth.

”You idiot,”she hissed, not allowing him a chance to speak. ”Where in the king’s name have you been? Did you know your father believes you dead? Did you that I…”

The words froze in her mouth. She seemed as though she were choking on her thoughts and her eyes widened, allowing a blush to settle across her cheeks. Closing her mouth she decided against whatever had been circulating through her mind and instead cast a death glare onto him. ”You best explain yourself Thomas, I am pissed.”

While waiting for a response her eyes traveled anxiously across his body, searching for a scratch or injury that would allude to a possible kidnapping or skirmish. But she merely found skin and the ruddy color of blood beneath. Gwethana did not know if she should be delighted at his return or furious at his seemingly lack of care. Did he even realized the worry she had been placed through? Her eyes moistened; no one had understood. They did not know. She did not tell them either. It was something she had wanted kept strictly between them out of her own selfish desire; and so she was left to suffer in her own misery.

[/size]

[Thomas "Ronan" Doxey]

*as if it's hell down here in the smoke-filled world,
where the jokes are cold
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The moment she turned, Thomas grinned, the corners of his mouth turning pleasantly upward into a toothy smile. Her sharp, emerald eyes cut and frayed the strings that held his together. She studied him for but a moment before her expression registered. Thomas’s friendly grin collapsed quickly as he realized her unavoidable fury. Utterly bewildered, Thomas looked around to see if she might be looking at anyone but himself. Much to his horror, there wasn’t anyone else to be glaring at unless her anger was directed at the lovely grasses – unlikely.

She charged, murder evident in the severe crease between her two unhappy brows. Thomas halted his horse, cool cobalt eyes wide with confusion and dread. Not any in recollection had he ever seen something so terribly frightening as an enraged woman. Feral dragons were nothing in the sight of this. Though, Thomas had to admit, even when he had the fear she might go homicidal, her beauty was irrefutable. It was in the ruddy of her cheeks. The line of her sloping jaw when set just so. The unrefined obsidian tresses pouring into a wild rampage of curls setting a ever-moving framework to her completely perturbed expression. The blood that burned just behind her jade eyes.

“You idiot,” her words cut to the quick, cauterizing any hope Thomas may have had for being cordial. He didn’t understand how – “Where in the king’s name have you been? Did you know your father believes you dead? Did you know that I…” she stopped. But it wasn’t as if Thomas had noticed. He was still reeling from the first two poison inquiries. Where had he been? Well, ‘where hadn’t he been?’ would have been an easier question to answer. The second snake bite sunk in. A general heaviness started at Thomas’s head and leaked all the way down to his toes until he felt as if he was made completely of lead. His… his father? The weight held tight against his chest, pulling all the wind from his lungs. Thomas struggled to breathe. He was almost certain his lips were turning blue.

Forcing the poisonous lead from his body, Thomas heaved in a wheezing breath; he would not allow it to idle. He would not idle.

Thomas.

Wait. Thomas? Who was Thomas?

She was looking directly at him when she said it. Thomas stared at her dumbfounded. “I’m terribly sorry, Miss. I didn’t mean to anger you so. And I believe you have me mistaken for someone else. The name’s Ronan.” Thomas – or ‘Ronan’ rather – gave a sympathetic smile, his brows knit upwards. This had to be some sort of blunder on her behalf.

There was… No. There was absolutely no way he knew her before. Even after losing his entire memory, there was no way that he wouldn’t remember such a face. Surely, Thomas would have committed to memory such a person. Then again… Wait… was she crying? He blinked.

Thomas’s mind struggled along like rusted gears of an ancient grandfather clock. Never had he dealt well with emotional people. Or, at the very least, crying people. They made him uncomfortable. Was this a memory? No. It was a fact.

As if his brows weren’t strung closely together earlier, they definitely were now. After the compassion, confusion, concern, and over-all caution, it wouldn’t be out of the question by looking at him that his dark-blonde eyebrows were permanently set together. “Miss? Are you alright?” Thomas’s voice asked in the sympathetic lower octaves of it’s range.

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they don't laugh at jokes
*they laugh at tragedies,

*TAG, lady gwethana
*WORDS, 580
*NOTES, I'm so sorry TT-TT I tried so hard to make this longer.
*OUTFIT, hurr
*LYRICS, regina spektor - lady
*CREDIT, THIS AMAZING THREAD TEMPLATE IS MADE BY CC! OF CAUTION 2.0.
KEEP THIS CREDIT ON HERE OR I WILL CURBSTOMP YOU (IN THE MOST LOVING WAY POSSIBLE!)

[Gwethana Idris Quartermane]

When Thomas introduced himself with a name that most certainly was not his own by birth, Gwethana felt her eyes widen. She glared at him dumbfounded. When he inquired if something was wrong Gwethana took a step back, eyeing him cautiously. What game was he playing at? Bitterly, and with sudden speed, she lurched towards him and swatted the back of his head. “Am I alright? What kind of question is that Thomas, do you mistake me for an idiot?” She glared icily at him, hands placed firmly on her hips. “I am not alright and am quite tired of your foolish games, you are Thomas and will immediately return to the palace with me and we will get you properly fed and seen to.”

Somewhere, deep in the recesses of her mind, Gwethana felt as though perhaps Thomas was genuinely confused and had little idea who she or he himself was. It was a perplexing thought; what would make him forget? He had been gone for quite some time; anything could have happened in his absence that she knew not of. What if he had been snatched by rogues and beaten to a bloody pulp? Her heart raced with dread. He was not scarred, emotionally or physically, so she could logically cross that off of her list. Perhaps he had been deathly ill? But could such an ailment spare his life with only memory as its hostage? Surely his identity was not enough to satisfy death.

A strangled gasp ripped from her throat. She placed a hand to her chest, tilting her head to the side gazing at him as though he were a two-headed ghost. Her lips trembled as she spoke, afraid to even say the words that filled her mind. “You…you truly do no remember?”

The birds seem to freeze in midair, muted. Gwethana felt herself drawn back, unsure of how exactly to approach Thomas or rather Ronan. If felt as though someone had bashed her on the back, stealing all of the oxygen pent up within her lungs. Earnestly her thoughts blurred together, sorting through files of vast knowledge, trying in vain to discover a sensible solution. But try as she might, no potion could cure a void memory save hope and time. But what if he did remember? After having seen more of Alagaesia, had Thomas grown fed up at his life with her and decided to run off and feign bafflement? She bit her lip, staring at him. It was uncharacteristic of Gwethana to act so crestfallen, but she felt little embarrassment in only his company. Her pulse rang loudly in her ears.

“Ronan,” she whispered softly, swallowing. “Where did you come from? Do you not recall this city?”

She paused, clearing her throat. In an attempt to regain some small shred of authority over her weakened demeanor, Gwethana lifted her head peering straight into his eyes. The green met the blue, and she shuddered in their quake. So long had she wondered where he wandered, and here Thomas stood, before her with no word of welcome or hello. It was surreal as though a dream. The name Ronan was hard and unfamiliar on her tongue, not soft and flowing like Thomas. She did not like nor would she waste her time to become familiar with it. In her mind the man before her was Thomas, never would he be different and never would she stray from that name.

The sun beat down in heavy rays and a line of sweat prickled her brow. Gwethana produced a handkerchief and dabbed at her skin and corners of her eyes, squaring back her shoulders. No matter she would stay strong. If he claimed to be someone else so be it; it was his decision how he should lead his life whether it be in her company or not. Why should she have any say?

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